Full Circle
by kouw
Summary: The dreams are some kind of fabulous, it is the cold harsh reality that makes them further apart than they need to be. A Carson/Hughes fic, set in 1904. Rated K   for now . As always: reviews terribly appreciated, i am curious to know what you think.
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: Whoohoo! A new Chelsie chapter fic!  
><strong>Summary<strong>: The dreams are some kind of fabulous, it is the cold harsh reality that makes them further apart than they need to be.

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><p>In her dream they had laid together and were caressing each other after they had been satisfied. She was on her back and he on his side, stroking her hair, her neck, her breast. Then he laid his hand on the slight bulge of her stomach and quietly asked: 'So, what are we going to do about this?' He smiled so brightly and kissed her with so much love.<p>

'Perhaps you could marry me...' she heard her own voice answer in the distance. He chuckled, 'That would make for a fine party, dearest.' and he pulled her against him, her head buried in his chesthair. 'But marrying the same wife twice in six months is a bit much' and they laughed together.

Elsie woke up smiling, her hand on the cotton of her nightgown instead of her skin. There was no bulge, no Charles. Only her narrow bed and the warmth of her bedclothes. She shook her head to get rid of her dream, opened the covers and got up. She washed herself with the icy water from the jug, splashing her face and watching the water fall back in the bowl. Then rubbed herself warm and dry with a towel and did her hair. She no longer worried about doing her hair in the nude: nobody ever entered her room in the early morning. She brushed the long dark-brown locks and pinned them into place.

When she pulled her shift over her head, she felt a draft. Quickly she turned around and found him standing there. In a reflex she picked up her dress and pressed it against her to shield her body from his eyes.

He gazed... She hardly registered it.

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><p>"Edward has had a fall and is bleeding. Could you take a look?" he asked after swallowing hard. She was so beautiful. Her long, slender legs, soft bottom, her curved waist... He ought to have said something sooner, but he was mesmerized. So many nights he dreamt of her, not only about her form or the passionate things he would do to her, but of them having tea in a bright room or of a noisy brood of children.<p>

He saw a blush appear on her cheeks, her eyes seemed moist, bur her voice was steady as she told him she would be there directly. "Oh, and Mr Carson? Might you knock next time?" Their eyes met. Charles nodded curtly and marched off, his mind entirely on her instead of his footman.

When she arrived, she was fully dressed and her demeanor efficient. Charles checked his watch: she had taken less than 90 seconds to get ready and get her case of medical supplies. She took Edwards hand, cleaned the wound on the back of it and dressed it while she talked to the boy nonstop.

She was a clever woman. He had known that from the moment that he had clapped eyes on her. Her hands were strong, her voice sounded like none he had ever heard before. Within two years she had found herself promoted and as housekeeper she shared every evening with him. He had thought about courting her.

He had thought of a great many things he would do to and with her. All the things he kept seeing in his dreams.

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><p>Elsie got dressed as quickly as she could and ran downstairs. She pulled her case from the shelf in her sitting room and tended to Edward. She talked to him while she worked, trying to distract him, asking questions only he could answer, trying to comfort him when he winced. Charles was so close, she could feel his warmth radiating towards her. With her dream in the forefront of her mind, it was hard to think about the task at hand.<p>

"You ask one of the kitchenmaids to make you a cup of tea, now Edward. When you feel a little recovered, you'll report to Mr Carson and he will instruct you further."

Always Mister Carson, never Charles. Always Misses Hughes, never Elsie. Not to any of the younger staff, never between the two of them.

Why was it then that she dreamt of him so much. Of more than quiet conversations, of more than physicality. Why did she dream of a life together, including everything that would involve. Her days for everything were numbered; after all she was more forty five than forty. Every morning a middle aged woman looked back at her when she pinned up her hair and tried to rub the sleep from her face.

Would he have found her attractive when she was younger? It was no use to ask, but she did. She thought him to be terribly attractive. He was tall and broad, his voice could lead her to distraction. He was usually calm and caring and so strong. He lifted the crates of wine without a single drop of perspiration appearing on his brow.

How would those strong arms feel around her? Stop it! she scolded herself. Stop now you can, before you think of how his hands would feel on your naked skin and... too late. She could feel the tingling in her core, the rush of blood going everywhere but her mind. Why did she do this to herself? Torture it was and there was no way she could stop it, there was no way to scratch the itch, for it was not just the physical thing that made her feel that way.

She turned around and left, leaving the two men to their own thoughts and tasks.

To him, Elsie was one of the most efficient, sensible and beautiful people he had ever known and he was contemplating that when she turned around to put away her things. She never undermined his authority, even now telling young Edward to report to him later. Her dress was swishing around her and he heard the clinking of the keys. Her body was trapped by a black dress, as if she was permanently in mourning. Who knew, perhaps she was.

Charles talked to Elsie every day. Often he found he wanted to speak to her and almost said her first name, which would be highly inappropriate. But then again, the thoughts and dreams he had about her were a step further from unappropriate. Some of them were only right for two people who were married to one another. He had stood close to her, observing what she did and had smelled her scent. A [i don't want her to smell of lavender, i dislike it so much!] slightly lemony perfume, which was probably the last rinse of her dress after the laundrymaids were done washing. Her hair was so close, he could see the slender column of her neck...

He had sighed inwardly and needed almost to steady himself. Her soft hands were so kind in its touches and her voice so gentle. He had often thought her highly intelligent and if she hadn't been a housekeeper, she could easily have set up a business for herself, though he did not really know what kind of business a woman would have.

Of course he found Elsie attractive, with her curved figure, the way she held herself, her witty conversation and how she never withered under the stare of the Dowager Countess. But there was something more, something undefined. A little voice in his head that said: 'She is the one and you are letting her slip away, you dolt.'


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you all so much for your kind reviews! It is so thrilling to find email alerts in your inbox, i can't tell you.

Now, for the story: we are picking up where we left off: Charles Carson knowing he is a fool for letting Elsie Hughes slip away because he can't find it in himself to make a move. Elsie doesn't seem to be able to do anything about her feelings either.  
>It's tragedy, this is.<p>

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><p>Managing Downton took more than just a clear idea of a linen rota, Elsie thought to herself, helping the head housemaid change the sheets in the nursery. You had to know which person was where at any time of the day. To be open in your communication, you had to be strict and knowledgeable and then there was the not so little task of making sure that servants were hardly ever seen. The Earl and Countess were kind employers, they did not mind seeing the odd maid tending a fire and they did not object to being kept informed about the well-being of the newest members of staff, but all the rest of it came down to Mrs Hughes.<p>

While she pulled the clean sheets into perfect corners, Elsie could see herself doing the same thing in her own house. A small cottage on an estate. With a garden and a double bed in the bedroom where she would lay her body to rest next to his, safe, loved and cared for. With a cot in the nursery and shoes and boots on the doormat and telling stories after dinner. Again she shook her head.

Her headshakes were a running gag in the servants quarter, she knew. Once she overheard a maid telling a bootboy about it. She endured it with grace because she knew the other choice was to give in to those thoughts and if she did that, she would be so thoroughly unhappy, she would be unable to do her job.

Her job meant a lot to her. She had worked hard for it, letting any part of it slip because she couldn't keep herself, her thoughts and her desires in check was unthinkable. While in her dreams and most private of thoughts she was 'Elsie', on the outside she would always be 'Mrs Hughes'.

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><p>He stood by the door, ushering in the head housemaid who was carrying a tray of cups and saucers and oversaw the serving of sandwiches and teacake. Lady Grantham was still young, her three children were all just under ten and her American ways had not completely vanished. He knew she enjoyed a cup of tea and a sandwich, but he also knew she could just as easily have gone for coffee. Charles felt loyal towards her, but more to her husband. The Earl was a good man who tried to run his estate with delicacy and honour. He was kind to his tenants and gave his daughters all the attention he could.<p>

All daughters. For a member of the aristocracy, this was a complication. For him as butler, a commoner, it would have been just chance without any implications. He tried to imagine himself as something else than a butler. What was it that he could have become if not a servant. He avoided the memory of himself as a Cheerful Charlie who sung and danced in noisy, smokey halls.

He did not know what he could have been, perhaps an accountant would have been possible. He would live in a small house, perhaps in a town or on an estate. He kept seeing the swaying hips of Elsie Hughes before him, just slipping around the corner. He could see her laying the table, darning small socks and stockings.

"Carson?"

"Yes, m'lady?" he slipped into his persona: he was butler at Downton, nobody else.

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><p>When Elsie walked past the drawing room, she saw him standing by the dresser and he just looked up. Their eyes met and she could feel her cheeks flush bright pink. But she didn't look away. So many things were going through her mind: how she could drown in those eyes, how handsome he looked in his starched shirt and tie, how dignified he was even when he poured tea in dainty cups.<p>

How she wanted to close even the smallest of gaps between them.

She did not reprimand herself. She stayed where she was. Going over and pressing herself against him would not only have been highly unladylike, it would have been painful with hot tea being poured over her dress. Though with the amount of layers of clothing on her, she wondered how long it would take for that tea to finally reach her bare skin.

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><p>He heard her before he saw her, the clinking of her keys always being there before her. He looked up from the tea he was pouring and got lost in her beautiful eyes. It was all he could do to not push away the teapot, walk over and just devour her. He did not put down the pot, but kept looking. He saw how she blushed, but didn't look away or move at all. Blood was rushing to places he preferred it stayed away from when he was in company. When she finally broke the spell, he had to think hard of unpleasant things such as dead fish on a slab before he could return to performing his duties.<p>

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><p>TBH...<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Again: thank you so much for your lovely reviews! Cookies and lemonade for all.

Summary: Something has changed and Elsie and Charles are teetering on the brink of revelation. 

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><p>His hand trembled when she accidentally brushed it with hers when she picked up her fork during supper. They sat at the end of the table, overseeing the rest of the staff. Mrs Patmore dished out beefstew and while Elsie had worked up quite an appetite cleaning and dusting the morning room, she did not feel a single pang of hunger now. She turned her face to look at him, only to find he was looking at her too.<p>

He was wearing the oddest expression. A mixture of fondness and desire and it finally hit her: she was not alone in her thoughts of him in various states of undress...

She had the upper hand, the staff could not see her face very well when she turned away from them to look at him. She smiled at him, a loving smile in which she tried to put what she could not put into words. She could feel her pulse quickening when the quickest of smiles came as an answer.

"Mr Carson, could you spare me some of your time this evening? I have a troublesome matter at hand and i feel you might be able to help me with it."

Elsie Hughes was nothing if not a quick thinker.

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><p>He knocked at the door and waited for her to answer. His heart was beating so hard, he was certain anyone could see it pounding against his ribs. He tried to keep his composure, but it wasn't easy. The door opened and he stepped over the threshold.<p>

Her rooms were not as sparsely decorated as his own. There was a silhouette in a brass frame, a vase of wildflowers on her desk, old embroidery works in various frames, the odd pastel. The desk was not exactly cluttered, but he had a hard time calling it tidy. He followed her to the two seats in the corner and sat down after she did.

He cleared his throat. "What was this matter you wanted me to look into, Mrs Hughes?"

Oh why can't he just say what he feels, what he thinks? Why can't he act on impulse. He is sure she knows how he feels since that afternoon. She can't have missed the effect she has on him and if he is not too much mistaken, she does feel _something_ for him. Of course this could be embarrassment or repulsion, but he tries not to dwell on that.

"Well Mr Carson... Charles..." she starts and tilts her head ever so slightly. The soft light of the oil lamp catches her eyes. She stops, seemingly uncertain how to go on.

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><p>How should she proceed? she thinks to herself. With caution, certainly, but what is she to say? She can't very well tell him that in her dreams they have a family that seems to be ever expanding and that in order to expand it they do things she hardly knew were possible... She bites her lip.<p>

"Elsie..."

He reaches out his hand and she grabs it. His touch sends shivers down her spine. They don't touch, except for the incidents that hardly happen, like during supper with the cutlery this evening.

"Yes..."

"You know..."

What does she know? How he makes her knees go weak when he hums to himself when he is decanting the claret?

"What?"

"You know i... i..." now he iss unable to go on.

With an inward chuckle she tells herself it is going to be a very long time before the conversation will come to any kind of conclusion.

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><p>He can't bring himself to say it. He has never said it before and he has never heard someone say it to him. Too big a thing to say in a dimly lit room close to the kitchens when she is so far away from him. He wants to say it, but not now, not here, not this way. He imagines a summer day, the garden, her exquisite body pressed against him, the sun shining in her hair. He laughs softly. Turns out he is a romantic old fool.<p>

"Why are you laughing?" she asks him. There is nothing in her voice besides curiosity. A different woman might have been upset.

"I am laughing because i am too old to be afraid to say what i feel. I laugh because i am not only Mr Carson the butler at Downton Abbey, but also Charles Carson, who works with a beautiful housekeeper and his thoughts of her keep him up at night."

Never in his life has he been so forward. He has shocked himself, but she isn't. A smile is curling her lips.

"A little less of the old, please..." she says and gets up from her chair. "Our age difference is not so big that i won't be slightly offended."

Her words are a reproach, her voice and face an invitation. He gets to his feet, takes her hand in his again and pulls her into an embrace.

When he kisses her, he forgets everything around him.

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><p>He holds her tightly but she does not feel trapped. His lips are soft and warm, his kisses tantalising and she just forgets everything around her until she hears a knock at her door. They spring apart and she adjusts her clothes. There are creases in her dress, but she hopes nobody sees it in the dim light.<p>

"Yes?" she calls out after she checks with Charles. Charles... not Mr Carson... 'What a difference one kiss makes', she thinks to herself.

A housemaid asks a questions and she answers routinely. The door closes again and while she wants nothing more than to grab him and resume their kissing, she doesn't. He is looking at her with a broad smile.

"You will drive me to distraction." he says.

"Hopefully." she answers.

Silence. She waits with baited breath and there it is: his loud chuckle of relief.

"It will be... different... from a usual courtship." he says.

"I understand." and she does. She doesn't want to lose her place either. She loves it here, she has worked too hard to just give it up. She might have done had she been five years younger, but not now.

"I am sure we can make it work."

"If a butler and housekeeper can't make such a..." she starts, searching for the right word.

"Liaison?" he offers.

"If we can't make a liaison like this work, i would say we were ill-suited for our jobs." she continues.

"Never let it be said you are not good at your job." he frowns.

"Or you." She gives him a cheeky smile and he shakes his head.

"Are you certain you want to do this?" he asks, being ever prudent, ever efficient. Ever himself.

"Oh aye." she says and steps into his arms, kissing him like she has never kissed a man before, without holding back, a kiss that even in her wildest dreams she has never encountered.

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><p><strong>AN**: Are you all as happy as i am that everything turned out well? Quite a relief.


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